Something About Love
by Anlynne
Summary: "I ran out on my wedding," she said for the third time. There was an image printed behind her eyelids. "His face... I hurt him."
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Draped satin, a crystal and gold beaded corset; the dress was big and grand. Her copper hair was pulled elegantly up at the sides in white roses, showing off a diamond necklace nestled right above her cleavage. In her hands were her bronze daisy's and white roses bouquet. She twisted and turned in the mirror, unsure of herself. Deciding that why it may not what she had in mind, she was relatively pretty. It would do. After all, it was one day, so what if it was not all hers? So what if she was in a great old cathedral that was not of her choosing, in a dress that she was unfit for? It was every girl's dream to have the wedding she was being given.

The door of the expansive room opened and Hermione's friend, her maid of honor, poked her head in. "Are you still decent," she asked, and smiled when she saw that she was. "You are gorgeous, Hermione. Are you ready?"

She sighed and felt hot tears brim her eyes. The question that had been in her head for a whole week finally let itself known. "Am I making the right decision?"

Ginny frowned and shut the door firmly behind her. She wore a sleek bronze dress, a yellow satin ribbon loosely tied around her waist. With the dark colors she wore her hair was as vibrant a flame. "Are you mad? You're questioning this _now?_"

Looking back to her white dress, the petal of a white rose pressing on her forehead, she nodded. It was a terrible thing but she doubted herself. What if she was making a mistake?

"I've never seen you happier. Don't let these past few months mess this up. There are two-hundred people out there! You are not bailing now. Your father is waiting outside. Go on."

Hermione inhaled and held her chest out, holding her breath for a beat. She sucked in her bottom lip between her teeth and blanched. She had forgotten she was wearing lipstick. Ginny, a good maid-of-honor marched forward and took the tube from the table and reapplied it. Hermione rubbed her lips together and settled herself.

Hermione was going to be married.

In the corridor she took her father's arm. She gave him a reassuring smile that she hoped was passable. It must have been because her dad patted her hand and glassy-eyed looked forward. Did she looked half as scared as him?

The harp played soulfully and over her shoulder Ginny gave her a meaningful glare, one that said, "you better do this." Then, she walked gracefully down the steps, her plum dress swaying.

It was their turn. Hermione felt like she would be sick, her feet were lead, but she was moving, descending. There were the sea of people all making a distorted wave as they stood. From the ceiling were strand after strand of bronze-painted roses, each of them dropping endless petals without losing its luster. It was the perfect wedding all completed with a rose petal runway stretched between the pews that led its way straight to her groom.

Happily, breathtakingly, Draco smiled.

She stopped, her arm falling out of her father's hold. She couldn't breath, she was suffocating, her hands shaking. The high arched ceiling, the faces of people she never met, it all swam in colors and horror.

Draco's mouth parted, smile gone. Horrified at her stillness.

There was a hush, the harp's last note hanging, wonderingly.

Hermione shook her head, apologizing to Draco, her eyes begging forgiveness as she turned and ran, her heels caught by the acoustics. She ran to the doors, flinging them open, cool air sweeping her up in its grace.

**A Week Earlier**

A year's worth of planning was neatly in a folder, that was until Hermione decided to agonize over every decision. She found that a lot of it was Mrs. Malfoy's planning. The hall was in a mansion in Northern England, the reception in the ball room. It belonged to their family - who else would buy such an extravagant place? Yet, it was worse than choosing the hall, Mrs. Malfoy chose the decorations and the colors; bronze and burnt orange, and she even dared to chose Hermione's dress, and the cake.

The cake... Hermione cringed to think of the picture that Mrs. Malfoy gave her. It was white with bronze swirls, yellow and orange flowers and leaves falling on each tier and circling the bottom. Mrs. Malfoy didn't know that she didn't like yellow, and she didn't have a preference toward orange either, but the woman was steadfast not listening to a word she had been trying to tell her for a year, since the day her and Draco announced their engagement.

Hermione felt the ring on her finger, a large sapphire and diamond engagement ring that Draco held out to her in a little black box when he knelt on one knee and asked her to marry him. They were in the garden after he had fetched her from her study to see the rose bush he planted by hand - no magic. Then, while she was admiring it, he lowered himself, and said, "marry me?" So simple, so beautiful. She was sure it was not the way Draco would have preferred to propose, but he knew she liked simple things, and to her that was love. Him willing to forgo the grand to give her the simple.

It all fell apart when they sat in the Manor's lounge, and Hermione showed Mrs. Malfoy her ring. Hermione always had the distinct feeling that Draco's parents hated her, and she was certain that it was not Mrs. Malfoy's usual look (her upturned nose like she was constantly smelling something foul) but that she was in true distaste at her son's decision. Then, her frown was replaced with a slow smile, like she was a cat who was on the sent of a delicious meal. Then, she began talking of tailors and venues until Hermione's head hurt, and that was a rare occurrence. Hermione rarely ever got headaches.

Draco came in from work, hanging up his cloak on the hook and instantly tilted her face to his, kissing her lips. "Good day, love," he said against her.

"A good day is questionable."

His brows knit worriedly. "The wedding again? Hermione, my mother is taking care of the arrangements, why are you stressed?" He knelt at the table. "The reason we let her go through with this is to lighten your load."

"She hasn't lightened the load, Draco, she has completely taken over. I thought when I married, I would make the plans. Draco, I don't need all of this. I don't like yellow!"

He kissed her more reverently, worshiping her mouth, almost making her forget the wedding. Almost. When he sat back, he took the folder, stuffing photos and signed papers into it. "I'll make you a cup of tea. I'll cook dinner."

"You don't know how to cook," she reminded.

"Fine. I'll get you a cup of tea and you cook dinner."

She raised her arms, and he pulled her up, bringing her right to his lips again. "Can't get enough of you," he muttered.

"We have our whole life."

White and silver. His gray eyes smoldered into hers, a portion of his slicked back hair falling beside it, creating a coolness of the colors she had failed to delight in before, but what they were before was not who they were then.

She smiled, enjoying the feel of his arms around her waist, his hands flat on her lower back, pressing her to him. It brought a sweet reminder to all that they had overcome, what Draco had overcome, his family, old prejudices and the parts of himself that brought about his near doom, only to meet her four years after the war, intent on dating her. That only took two years of developing a friendship, but he wasted no more time, proposing to her within months, and there they were.

**Presently**

The high arched ceiling was what Draco blamed when the hall erupted into questions and worries. The voices all muddled together, loud and booming, but at first, he hadn't heard it. It could have been shock but all he saw and all he heard was slamming doors where his bride once was. She had been there, beautiful than ever, walking toward _him. A vision_. That was what he was going to tell her when she came beside him. What happened. Stupidly, he thought she was going to be back, that she had forgotten something.

It was his father yelling at him that brought him out of being consumed by the breaking occurring inside of him.

"I told you! I told you she was no good, son!"

Wrenching out of the grasp he had on his shoulder, he yelled back. "Shut it, father!"

He gasped, outraged, but it was all inaudible. All two-hundred guests were in a right state of confusion and scandal. He was sure there was at least one guest plotting to put it in the Daily Prophet as soon as they were free.

Once Mrs. Malfoy tore herself away from her gossiping hens of friends, she took Draco's hands earnestly gazing into his face. "What happened? Where did she go?"

"I don't know -"

"I told you not to marry the likes of her. Narcissa, I told you planning this wedding was a waste for her kind. They appreciate nothing. They have too little intelligence."

She gaped like a fish, noticing the dangerous flash in her son's eyes. "Draco, dear, is this normal..." She tried to find the appropriate words. "Is this normal muggle behavior? Will she be back?"

He dropped his mother's hands, unable to take his eyes off the doors where she disappeared. He would not answer one more question until he had his answered. "I'm going to find my wife."

"She is not your wife," his father informed cruelly.

That did not matter. He waited for her for years, not knowing who he was waiting for. It was her. He knew it when he spotted her in the rain, her soaked hair spilling in a curtain over her kind face, her chocolate eyes, but he knew immediately who it was. No one else would use such clean language and no one else would dubiously take his hand to be helped up.

Behind him he heard his father yell more indecencies and he ran faster. It was too late, he knew. Hermione would have disapparated, but still, he ran. If he lost her he would never forgive himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Around the corner from the cemetery there was a bar. It was the last place Hermione wanted to stop, but her feet were hurting in the blasted heels she was made to wear, and she was out of breath, and surely looking a mess with her mascara running. No one said anything to her as she passed them to the ladies room. They all sat there gaping over their mugs of alcohol. The place stank of it.

Locking herself inside the dingy toilets, she glanced herself in the mirror. There were black rivers running over her red cheeks, strands of her hair falling to her shoulders. She looked away and took out her wand. With a simple transfiguration spell she fixed her dreaded shoes into flats. It would take too big of a complicated spell to fix her dress, and she certainly did not want to take it off where she was at. She didn't know what Mrs. Malfoy paid for it and she didn't want to know. That was another terrible side-effect of being a Malfoy: They thought that she couldn't afford to have a wedding worthy of them. They were right, but it wasn't as though she wanted their kind of wedding anyway.

**Six Days Ago**

Once again Hermione was caught sitting at the coffee table among the strewn of wedding plans. She looked over the seating, searching for names that she recognized. She was willing to bet a large sum of her money that even the Malfoy's couldn't know that many people.

Searching for her friends' name in Mrs. Malfoy's calligraphy-like handwriting took longer than it should have. Then, there was Harry and Ginny, lumped with Luna and Neville at the very top of the page, in a corner of the room, farthest away from the bridal table.

Feeling hot, she searched again for the others, but none of the Weasley's had a seat, and she knew personally that each of them were attending, sans Charlie who returned to Romania.

It was unacceptable. Hermione had been very patient with the old bat for Draco, but she had enough. She shoved the papers away and stood to write an Owl to her.

She stopped before she reached her study, though, hearing her front door open.

"Ron. That key was for emergencies!"

"I like them. Less grime."

She huffed, taking his key away. "There's no grim at all."

"I wanted to talk to you. Your fiancé isn't home, is he?" He said "fiancé" like he had opened his mouth during floo'ing.

"No, he's working late tonight." She began putting the folder together again, sitting it in the center of the coffee table where it stayed to keep her up night after night, worrying over things she had no control over. She placed the key next to it.

"We need to talk."

"I'll make tea."

Fingertips grazed the back of her hand. She looked at him, realizing that it was serious in the dull lines around his mouth, and her heart plummeted. "Harry. He's - Tell me -"

"Harry's fine," he said shortly. "Everyone's fine. I think. Hermione..." He was gazing at the folder, not at her, as if reading every grand plot in its nauseas yellow color. "Are you happy?"

"Yes." It was a lie, she wasn't. She was upset and feeling helpless.

"You're a dreadful liar."

Before she could amend or protest, he kissed her. His hands were firm on her hips, his lips full on hers. It was wetter than Draco's kisses, more pressing, like pushing emotions that didn't exist through. It was awkward, the way it was when they first kissed. Their last kiss.

Hermione pulled away. She readied to smack him, but her arm hung limp at her side. He looked away, his cheek ready, but he appeared so sad that it was unbearable.

"Why did you do that," she asked instead, softly as to not break him.

"Because," he said, finally looking at her. "It was supposed to be us."

"Don't do this. Leave."

"What happened to us?"

"Nothing happened, Ronald. We were never together. It was time that we moved on."

"_After _we kissed?"

"It was a desperate moment in the war. We thought we may die. Psychologically speaking - "

"You're not a nutter who studies nutters! Hermione, this is us!"

She pushed past him, and held open the door. "Go."

"Hermione -"

"Go before Draco comes home."

"I'm not afraid of him!" He approached her closely, and she stepped back, afraid that he'd kiss her again, but he didn't try. "He doesn't scare me. I find guys like him for a living -"

"He's not that man anymore. Ronald, leave."

"You could do better than him."

"There's nothing that's better than him."

"I won't give up. Not this time." Then he left, and Hermione, in her frustration and building anger slammed the door after him so hard that the window panes trembled. It gave her some sort of satisfaction.

She couldn't write her letter when she was upset as she was. To calm down her mother always suggested a bubble bath ("from anger comes sadness and in sadness comes regret and we lose what we hoped to achieve"). Hermione did not often anger and a bubble bath was a simple way of giving time to think before rash decisions. Not that she had time for such things when she slapped Draco, when she set those birds after Ron, and a few other incidences that would go without saying.

The knobs squeaked as she turned them by memory to the perfect temperature. She stripped off her clothes and poured in her lavender scented bubble bath, sinking its depths, the bubbles gently popping under her chin.

Soon, steam rose off her skin, burning off the encounter with Ron, and she was seeing things clearer. She would have to stay out of Ron's path for a good while: He needed time to see things as clear as she was seeing them then. She would also write to Mrs. Malfoy with the names that did not make the list, but she would leave Ron's out of it. If he was continuing to harbor feelings for her, perhaps it was best that he didn't witness her wedding or the celebration to follow.

There was a soft knock that kicked her heart out of her chest, and she lowered herself into the tub, as if it would hide her from the intruder. But it was Draco's head that popped in this time, a coy smile playing on his lips.

"May I join you?"

She sighed. "Hard day?"

He shook his head. "It was a fair day." Bunching the bottom of his shirt he raised it over his head revealing his lithe form. He unbuckled his jeans, letting them fall with his boxers. He didn't test the water, he immediately bathed himself in front of her, pulling her legs on either side of his.

"Married life is a bliss," he stated.

"We're not married yet," she pointed out.

He shrugged. "It's a piece of paper, Hermione. We're marrying for tradition's sake."

"We are not. We're marrying because -"

"Because I want you to be officially mine," he finished, the tone of his teasing slipping through.

She splashed him with soapy water. "You must have had more than a fair day if you're in this mood."

"I'm with you," he answered, pulling her closer to him, his lips at her collarbone. Suddenly he started making spitting sounds, his face revolted, furious. "Bubbles! Ah!"

She giggled as Draco leapt out of the tub, his backside covered in translucent bubbles catching the light and setting off rainbows in its sphere. Hastily he rinsed his mouth under the tap of the sink as she continued her fit of giggles, Draco fussing, "funny, Granger!"

"Ah, Draco, I won't be Granger much longer, what will you call me?"

He spat out in the sink and looked at her, his face still repulsed. "You will always be my Granger girl."

She smiled happily. "You are coming to the wedding, right?"

"Think they won't miss the groom?"

"The wedding tomorrow, Draco."

"Yes. That one. I may have to work late."

"You promised."

Pensive, he nodded, and returned to the bath. He pulled her even closer, his arms clasping around her, his nose tickling hers.

"I'll make a deal with you. If on that ruddy show you watch every week, if the main characters kiss, like this -" He kissed her softly. "I will go, and you can pick out what I wear. Mind you, don't put me in a frock."

"A kiss like this?" She kissed him.

"Yes, exactly like that."

"We have a deal, Malfoy."

**Presently**

Draco was almost to the door when the sleeve of his robe tugged, and then he was scrambling right into a pitch black room. It wasn't just a room, it smelled of cleaning supplies and mildew. Draco took one step before he collided into a wall, bumping his head (ah!). It was a closet. Who dared shove him in a closet?

"Lumos," a women called, a light flooding the room, casting shadows over red hair and a pretty face.

"Weaslette?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Where's Hermione?"

"I don't know!"

"You're her friend."

She rolled her eyes. "She was having cold feet, but I thought -"

"You thought? Why didn't she come to me?"

With the ball of her hand she bumped him in the the exact spot that he hit - thanks to her. He grunted, refraining from shoving her into the mops that was propped behind her.

"You're thick, you know that, Malfoy? Because she's the bride, you couldn't have seen her in her dress."

"That's not what I was talking of, Weaslette. Why didn't she tell me that she was having second thoughts."

"Probably didn't know until now."

Draco pressed his palms to his eyes. "Just tell me what do I do?"

"You go after her, of course."

"Where?"

"Wherever you think she would go."

He lowered his hands, glaring at her. "That was helpful. Is that what you threw me in here for?"

"No. It was to make sure you thought about her before you went looking."

"She's all I'm thinking about!"

"Draco..." His given name seemed to be an effort for her to say and - although it was hard to tell in the wand light, she appeared to have regretted it instantly. "Think about Hermione. Who she is. None of this - this wedding - is her."

It hit him like a hundred bludgers. Hermione was a perfectionist and he assumed that she would want to handle the wedding and when she let his mother take control - well, he admitted, it was odd, but who was he to question her? He was certain that the day was more important to her than it was to him. All he wanted was to wake up next to her in the morning and be able to call her his wife. It became clear then that he had every right to question her sanity. It was not as though he had never done so. It was Hermione, after all.

Just as grudgingly as Weaslette had used his given name, he said, "I owe you one." And he left to find his would-be wife.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Not having any desire to be gawked on her way out of the bar, Hermione crawled through the low set window. It was humiliating, even without anyone there, that she was sneaking out through a window of a bathroom of a pub on what was supposed to be her wedding day. Balancing her hands on the grass, she slowly pulled her legs through, her knees hitting the dirt hard. She stood and dusted her helpless dress off.

Where was she going to stay? She couldn't go back home. Whoever would be looking for her would be going there first. She thought of a hotel for the night, but she didn't have any money. Only her wand - that since the war had never left her side; she slept with it under her pillow, clutched it in her hand.

Draco hated that she felt that insecure with him around but it was impossible to explain that it had nothing to do with him, and anyhow, one night when she was up for a drink she spotted his wand tucked into the frame of his bed, right by his hand. Whether she would ever admit it or not, Draco must have witnessed more terrifying acts than her. After all, Voldemort lived in his house.

Hermione began walking, thinking of where to apparate to. Where she needed to be most. No place seemed safe. Safe from her groom.

**Five Days Ago**

Hermione didn't speak of the incident between Ron and her. It was shameful, and if Draco knew then there was a real possibility that he would kill Ron, and if there was ever a more inappropraite time to kill him it was then. Ginny would in turn kill Draco because Ron had to be alive for his sister's wedding that Saturday.

In Ginny's old room (that hadn't changed a bit since her school days, even the Holyhead Harpies posters on the wall), Hermione helped Ginny with her dress. It was a simple dress to her knees, with diamond accents around her waist. Hermione zipped her up, and stood back.

"You look beautiful, Gin."

Ginny turned, having took a deep breath. "Thank you."

Luna inspected her from her seat on the bed, wearing the same pale blue dress that Hermione was wearing. Instead of up-doing her hair, she had opted for keeping it down, and for wearing no shoes. "Barefoot would be nicer. I stepped on a gnome's tooth in the garden today. It has beneficial qualities if worn around the neck for seven full moons -"

Hermione slipped out of the room, not hearing the rest of Luna's curious lesson. She went into Percy's old room, which had been cleared to a simple guest room, but for that day, it was where the boys were getting ready. Without knocking she walked in on Harry and Ron.

In his tux, looking more handsome than she had ever seen him, Harry cursed. "Hermione!"

"This is where the men are changing," Ron told her an octave higher than his usual tone but an octave lower than a squeak. "You can't keep barging in like this."

Hermione paid no mind to him, hugging her best friend instead. "You look smart, Harry."

He nodded, looking sickly green in the face. "Um, yeah."

Ron chuckled. "Cold feet?"

"I'll fetch stomach reliever from Mrs. Weasley -"

"No," Harry said quickly, heat coating his cheeks.

Then, strangely enough, Ron's cheeks were crimson too, his eyes on fire. She turned, following his eye line right to Draco. Her heart sped up, as it usually did when she saw him, and she smiled.

Draco, on the other hand, had a definitive frown. He fiddled with his shirt, and he kicked out a leg, not used to the formal muggle attire. She giggled, and he scowled further.

"Funny, Granger. Very funny. This is a riot for you."

"Oh yes," she agreed, but her heart was doing somersaults. He looked very handsome in an odd sort of way. He looked good in the black suit, it changed him dramatically, but only in the most foreign and beautiful way possible.

"What happened to you, Malfoy?" Harry did his best to hide his pleasure.

"He lost a bet," Hermione answered proudly.

Ron looked as if he had been pummeled by twenty bludgers. Quickly, to keep Draco from noticing his peculiar behavior, she led him out.

"Come, lets have Fleur take a picture of us."

"You're bleedin' crazy if you think I'll give you any proof of this!"

To Hermione intense satisfaction, she was able to get a picture of Draco, but it was later at the tables, after the beautiful simple ceremony (where Draco only looked at her during the vows, and she pretended not to notice).

People were mingling and talking and toasting. Harry and Ginny were laughing with Ginny's brothers, Ron's eyes flicking toward Hermione occasionally attempting to gain her attention, but she looked everywhere but at him.

Beside her, Draco was taking lessons from Bill and Fleur's daughter Victoire in how to make a swan out of a napkin. His napkin looked like a lopsided hippo.

"Victoire," Hermione said gently, "may I dance with my fiancée?"

"Go ahead," she said tiredly, "he's not getting it."

Draco, taken aback, was about to retort before Hermione tugged him out onto the dance floor. That didn't stop him, in her ear he said, "I was doing splendid."

"Sure you were."

He sighed, and held her close, swaying to the music. "Why does Weasley keep staring at you?"

She ceased dancing. She didn't know what to say, her mouth opened and closed like a fish. Then, there was a tapping on her shoulder.

"May I cut in," Ron asked.

"No," Draco said shortly. "Go away."

"Draco," she chastised softly, not truly meaning it.

Ron took her hand, and she looked away. "One dance."

Draco glimpsed between them. "One." He left, fiddling with his lapel.

Ron swung her around and shuffled his feet. Without her cooperation she realized they must have looked silly. Reluctantly she followed his lead and uncomfortably she set her hands on his shoulders, being careful to keep a width between their bodies.

In a hushed frantic tone, she said, "you are acting like a lunatic, Ron."

"A lunatic?"

"I'm marrying Draco."

"That's a mistake."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it was supposed to be us."

"It's too late for that."

"Not until you say 'I do.'"

"If you loved me, you'd let me live my life with him." She heaved a sigh. Her curiosity to take a sneaking peek at Draco tingled, but she kept her eyes forward on Ron's chest. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I didn't do it before. I should have done this ages ago."

"You're too late."

"I'll give up when you're married."

That was five days away. What damage could he do in five days that he hadn't already done? "You promise?"

"I promise. You'll just be my friend."

The song was over, there was only the sound of celebrating people. Her hands dropped. "Dance with Luna," she told him, seeing how Luna was gazing at Ron. It was the lightest her eyes had ever been. It was the same look she had when she talked of her adventures in the Alps searching for her fairytale creatures.

Hermione turned to a fuming Draco.

Five more days, and she would have peace.

**Presently**

Draco was out the door when a cold claw gripped his wrist. He spun to face a girl with coal black hair and deep-set eyes. On cue, he felt ill. If it wasn't before, it was then the worst wedding in the history of Malfoy weddings.

"What are you doing here," he snapped at Pansy.

"Oh, Draco, don't be that way. I came to wish you and your bride congratulations," she said, her words like sap.

"That's a lie, Pansy."

"I'm sorry that it was ruined," she pouted, her bottom lip curled out. He couldn't believe that he kissed that mouth. He was a naive boy, but that was hardly any excuse.

He raised a brow. "Where did she go?"

"Oh. I was surprised to see that she'd leave you that I didn't give it any attention. Like she could do better!"

"She could," he said, and began a brisk walk down the rocky drive.

"You could do better. Do you remember those days we spent together as children? Those were fun times -"

"Listen, Pansy. If you have not noticed, I'm looking for my fiancée."

"She left, Drakey -"

"I told you. Don't call me that."

She pouted again. "You used to like it."

"I hated it then and I hate it now."

Stepping close to him, she ran her manicured hands down his front. "What's so special about her anyway?"

"She's not you."

Gaping, he turned and left her there in her sleek white dress, and curled hair. Her upturned nose reminded him of that pug that Hermione fawned over in the pet shop. He had a good mind to buy that dog after he found Hermione. They could bring her home, give her a rawhide bone, and name her Pansy.

"Draco!"

He ignored her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

With feet and heart sore, Hermione finally stopped. She had made two turns that placed her on fields and hills of green. It retrospect, it was a beautiful day, the sky was perfectly clear and bright with cooling breezes of autumn's reminder. It would have been the perfect day to be married.

Miles away she had taken off her heels. She had the right mind to throw them in the pond she had passed, but they looked painfully expensive with their glittering jewels (that she could not be sure weren't real diamonds). She would hate to have to tell Mrs. Malfoy where her prideful generosity swam.

It turned out to be the right choice. There was a pub. It seemed misplaced among the farms and it gave her pause to see how empty the place was. However she was surprised upon walking in, the bartender being rosy cheeked and friendly. He welcomed her in, taking in her dress and general depressing state.

"Hard day," he asked with humor she could appreciate.

"Yes."

He nodded thoughtfully, then brought out a bottle of gold liquid that reminded her of Harry's Polyjuice potion. "This is on the house," he said as he poured her a tall glass.

**Four Days Ago**

Draco was working late and so Hermione did what she usually did when she was alone. She poured a small glass of wine and laid out her work on the coffee table. She wrote letters, signed agreements. Then, she settled with whatever happened to be on television.

As those nights went, she had fallen asleep, the television left on, blinking its colors over her sleeping features. Time slipped from her consciousness, and for all she knew, she had been asleep for seconds or hours, but a blanket was sliding over her bare arm, and there was a hand on her head. It felt odd. It wasn't the hand she was used to. It was larger.

What truly woke Hermione that night was the crash. She bolted up, the blanket pooling at her waist, and she saw in a heap at the bottom of a scuffed wall was Ron. His red head was bowed and he groaned when he touched the back of his neck.

Draco was at the door, his wand raised, his eyes a molten fire of fury. "Don't. Move."

She stood, groping for her wand left on the couch. "Draco... Lower your wand."

"How dare you," he spat at Ron, "come into _my_ house, touch _my_ wife."

With her wand in her waistband, Hermione moved to help Ron, but stopped, seeing a wrapped plate on the island in the kitchen. She could see it was a small pile of chocolate cakes, wafting their warm and sweet scent through the rooms. Putting it all together, she slid an arm under his and got Ron to his feet, but he quickly pushed her away. He went for his wand, but Hermione snatched it from his pocket and backed to the wall.

"Stop it. There's been a misunderstanding. For Merlin's sakes, Draco, _lower your wand_!" Slowly, he did as she ordered and she exhaled a deep breath. "Ron was delivering something from Mrs. Weasley. She baked us cakes, look there." She pointed to the kitchen, and Draco's eyes lit in comprehension.

Ron stood straighter, chest puffed out importantly. "I should have you arrested, Malfoy!"

Draco glared. "Go ahead then."

"No one is getting arrested," Hermione said.

"I have the power to do that," Ron told her as if she didn't know.

She brought herself to her full height, even though it did not near match his, but she was right indignant. "I'm a lawyer, Ron, and you have no right to arrest him. This is our house and you did break-in. I remember taking your key."

Ron, flabbergasted, raised his hands in surrender. "Have it your way, Hermione. Have Malfoy and have your perfect house. You could've had different - better." He rushed out, Draco clearing his way, although there was murder in his stony expression.

The greatest form of love Draco could have shown to her at that moment, he did: He did not killing her best friend. Draco pocketed his wand, and looked her over. "What aren't you telling me?"

Hermione looked away.

**Presently**

Draco apparated to every place he knew. Her favorite library, her favorite restaurant, and lastly and most unlikely, their house.

He called out her name, but expected no answer. Hermione was too smart to go home, knowing very well that it was the place he would go. Regardless, he checked every empty room, ending his search in their study, staring at their two desks at either side of the room. His a mess of paperwork and hers neat and organized pens in cups and labels on every drawer.

There was one thing different on hers: A letter.

His heart sped up. Maybe she had been by, he had thought, but his heart dropped when he saw that it wasn't her handwriting, and it was addressed to her, not to him.

Draco respected her privacy, and he had not once touched her desk. Okay, that was not true. They once had some fun on its lacquered surface. Okay, that wasn't true either, it was more than once. Yet, there was the opened letter, and she was gone, and he was looking for her. In his defense, he was a desperate man in search of his wife.

_Hermione,_

_ I do stupid things, don't I? I kiss you and make you cry; I mess everything up. Forget it, will you? You have my blessing. Marry Malfoy. You're the smartest Witch I know; he must be a good man now._

_Your Best Friend, Ron_

_P.S. If you change your mind, run and I'll wait for you at the back of the church._

Draco crumpled the letter in his fist. Breathing hard, his heart beating fast, he threw the damn thing to the side and stormed out of the house.

He would kill the Weasel.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The stunted glass rolled in her hand, the lone ice clinking in against its chambers. "I ran out on my wedding," she said for the third time. She sat her empty glass down and rubbed her hands over her face. She could only imagine the smears of makeup that she was streaking, but she couldn't be bothered. No, what bothered her more than that was the image printed in her behind her eyelids. "His face... I hurt him."

Hermione heard the sloshing of more orange alcohol being poured into her depression. "Sounds like you regret it. Why not go back?"

She let her hands thump on the table. "I... Can't."

"Sounds like you want to."

The liquid looked delicious, but in that too, she saw Draco's visage. There was no escape.

"I'll tell you what," the bartender said, "you did walk out on your wedding but not your marriage."

She must have drunk more than she thought, because that didn't sound right. "You have to have a wedding to have a marriage."

"Marriage is about love and spending the rest of your lives together. Who needs a paper for that," he asked with a wave of his giant hand that looked like Hagrid, but he was sounding very much like Draco.

She downed her fourth glass of whatever he poured.

**Three Days Ago**

Hermione sat slumped outside of their office door. It was where Draco went when he argued with his parents. It was where he went when he was emotionally _hurt_. He had never been in there because of her before. She thought the worst had been when he said brokenly, "how could you?" She didn't think he would retreat to the office, she didn't think it would be that bad.

"I'm sorry," she had said to the door, with no reply. There was nothing else to do but to sit and wait. When Draco sulked, there was nothing to bring him out of it but time, and that, unfortunately, was moving as slow as Winky in the kitchen.

She hated herself for making that comparison about Winky. Harry, Ron and Draco hadn't been the best influence... She liked them for that. Her boys...

The last she remembered that night was having looked at her watch to see that it was midnight. The next thing she knew she was curled up in the hallway, Draco's hand on her hair. His thumb was hooking itself on a strand of dirt brown, slipping it out of her adroit brown eyes.

"Do you love him," he asked softly.

She was wrong: That hurt the worst.

"No," she told him. "God, no, Draco." She sat up. "I love you. It's you I'm marrying."

He looked deeper into her eyes, something he did to spot a lie. "Are you sure about that?"

Taking his face into her hands, she nodded, tears burning her eyes. "No one's made me happier."

His hands gripped her arms, and he pulled her to him, meeting their lips. "You made me a promise."

She raised an eyebrow.

"You promised you'd marry me in three days," he reminded her.

"Ah," she faked comprehension, and she laughed. "I vow to you, Draco Malfoy, that in three days time, I will marry you."

"Make me another promise."

"What?"

"That _he_ isn't invited."

"He's my best friend."

He exhaled shakily. "Make me another promise, then."

"What is it?"

"You'll marry me again in ten years, and ten years after that, and once every decade for the rest of our lives."

"Why every ten years?"

"Because I need you to know that there will never be a day I don't love you, and that I wouldn't marry you again and again."

"You have to make me a promise, too."

"Anything."

"That you don't kill my friends."

"That's asking a lot, Hermione."

She laughed, and kissed him. "Promise, Draco."

"I promise."

**Presently**

Draco was there to kill. That was the only reason he chose to go back to his failed wedding: To kill his bride's friend. It sounded good at the time.

He ignored the Weaslette's gasp as he passed her by the arched entrance. She must have been waiting for him, but he was too busy to stop and answer her insistent blathering of, "Malfoy!" He walked right into the reception area, where people were graciously helping themselves to the vast amount of food. Every single person had the gall to look up at him with anxious wondering. Some even had the gumption to ask him what happened. Again, he ignored them all.

He spotted the ginger by the wine. Draco took out his wand and aimed.

"Don't you think about it!" The Weaslette grabbed his arm and pulled him back, saving her brother's life. It only sounded exaggerated, but Draco did have every intention of murdering him.

Potter and Weasley had both taken out their wands, but Draco wasn't afraid. He had never been afraid of them and he wasn't about to start then - with or without his wand. He was too angry.

"Where is she?"

Weasley stupidly blinked.

"Where is my wife?"

"Why would he know where Hermione is," Potter asked reasonably.

Draco felt the old pull of his lips into the smirk he had when he found a new person to bully, an easy target. When something bad happened to Potter and Weasley and it gave him a fresh punch line for the next month. It was something that Hermione hated, but the old poison of hatred was surging in his veins again, and Hermione wasn't around to dilute it with her light.

"She didn't show up at the back of the church, did she, Weasley?"

Potter stared at his best friend.

Weasley shrugged them off.

Through gritted teeth, "tell me where she is."

"You're a stupid git, Malfoy. She's not with me, is she?"

Weaslette released him and a hand collided with his shoulder. His mother spoke in his ear. "Son, you are causing a scene."

He jerked his shoulder out of her grasp. He looked around him, at the beautiful lanterns hanging from the ceiling, the space where he and Hermione should have had their first dance, he noticed the half-eaten cake that he never cut with her. What he did not notice was the amount of eyes that were glued to him.

Weasel was telling the truth, that much he knew. It didn't stop him wanting to go through with his plans of dumping a body somewhere remote and cold, but it did give him enough reason to keep his promise to Hermione.

"It's time to call it a day," his father told him sternly. He was gripping his walking stick, the eye of the snake looking like it was winking at him.

"No," he spat, his throat tight. "Not until she's found."

"Malfoy," Weasley said before Draco turned away. "She didn't want me. It won't happen again."

"It won't," Draco agreed, "because next time I'm severing your jewels off." He walked away, but he heard his mother gasp at her son's vulgarity. He would apologize later. First, he would find his wife.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Hermione was walking again (if you could call it walking). She was swaying like an trivial drunk person, and she despised herself for it. Not for being trivially foolish, but for leaving her husband... Yet, perhaps for being besotted as well.

It was past noon, the sun moving its speedy yet somehow slow way across the sky and she wondered where she would be by dark. Perhaps on another lonely road with the same broken heart, and it did not matter at all. It was the alcohol talking, but nothing seemed to matter anymore. The world was bleary and she felt only the distant sting of her pain.

**Two Days Ago**

Mrs. Malfoy sent a formal letter through Owl requesting the wedding folder to be returned for a few "minor changes." Hermione did not understand why she addressed her as "Ms. Granger." It was a cold form of endearment from a person that would soon be her mother-in-law. Nevertheless, Hermione personally went to the Malfoy Manor to deliver it, traveling in the dizzily England rain through the towering iron gates of snakes, through the neatly trimmed hedges and up to the doors of the Manor where she knocked a brass curling snake.

No one answered. Then, when she was inspecting the sparkling green jewel of the brass snake's eye, the doors opened on their own. She walked in, shaking the droplets off of her coat.

There were two grand staircases that hugged the roaring fireplace and empty chairs and bookcases. Despite the fire that heated her cheeks pink, she felt internally cold. Time may have passed and Draco was different, but his childhood home wasn't, and no matter the years that flew by them she would never be comfortable in the place where she was tortured by his aunt.

Hermione wanted to leave quickly. It was a bad idea to go there to prove a point. She intended to leave the folder on the low table, but just as she made her way to do so, Mrs. Malfoy floated down the left staircase, pausing at the sight of her dripping daughter-in-law.

"Ms. Granger."

Hermione sighed, hugging the folder to her chest as if it was possible that if Mrs. Malfoy didn't see the rapid pace of her heart she wouldn't know she was uncomfortable. "Please, call me Hermione."

Mrs. Malfoy ignored her, continuing her descent down the stairs, her hand not quite touching the railing in a regal air. "What is it you have there?"

"The wedding folder you asked for."

"Why did you not use your owl? Is it ill?"

"No, he is not, thank you for your concern." She took a deep breath, wanting to be careful with her words. "I wanted to deliver it personally. After all, we will be family soon."  
Mr. Malfoy, appearing behind her, said, "we'll see about that."

"Lucius," Mrs. Malfoy chastised gently, snatching the folder from Hermione.

Her heart was racing out of her chest. Yes, she had made a dire mistake going to the Manor. Without Draco, there was no stopping her fear.

"If you care to check, Mrs. Malfoy, I have made notations on what I'd like."

Her nose upturned. "That's very well, Ms. Granger, but we would like this to be a _normal_ wedding, now, wouldn't we?"

Hermione blushed, and not from the heat of the fire. "Mrs. Malfoy, it will be _normal._"

"I mean, we wouldn't want a _muggle_ wedding. Our friends will be there."

"So will mine, and frankly, Mrs. Malfoy, you are being impossible. This is _my_ wedding to Draco, and it should be _our_ decision." She spun to Mr. Malfoy, refusing to be off-putted by his stature; she had fought bigger men than him before. "And for your information, I am going to marry your son. That is not your decision either. You cannot control our lives like you are controlling this wedding!"

Mr. Malfoy's eyes hardened, the way Draco's did when he was angry, and she stepped backward from the shock. "My son is making a foolish decision," he seethed, "he'll see that soon enough."

Her eyes burned from anger. "I love Draco. That should be enough."

"Without the right blood, it's nothing."

She shook her head, running out of the Manor without looking back. She vowed never to return again.

**Presently**

Draco didn't know where else to go. He plopped himself outside of the Cathedrals front steps, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. More than despair, he felt fear that he would never find her. Worse than that was the feeling that she didn't want to be found, and it was all his fault.

He should have still cared what happened between her and Weasley. It burned his insides, but... He couldn't care more for it than he cared for Hermione. Weasley had 7 years and a kiss; Draco planned to have her for the rest of his life.

He remembered long ago Potter mentioning he liked taking muggle transportation. Something horrible called a "bus." Hermione tried explaining it to him. Regardless, whatever it was, it felt like the perfect place to go nowhere.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

It was raining and Hermione was soaked. She sat on a bench at the corner of a street that she didn't know the name of, waiting for... Nothing. Perhaps it was clarity to see her mistake or perhaps it was strength to get up and do something about her miserable self. She was not one to wallow, but she had never left anyone before. Not Harry during the Horcrux hunt, not anyone or anything.

She mourned for Draco in a way that was completely foreign to her. It wasn't like saying goodbye to Crookshanks two months ago, or to anything that _had_ to go. It was her choice. She let go. She had no right to feel the way she did, but she did anyway.

A bus pulled up. She wondered where it would take her.

**One Day Ago**

"Tomorrow, you'll be my husband," Hermione said gleefully, watching Draco lift containers of food out of a brown paper bag.

He sighed, "tomorrow you'll be at the mercy of my mother and her attendants. It's the honeymoon I'm looking forward to."

Heart plummeting, she sat at the table, her chin in her hand. Draco knew that look all too well.

"We're getting married. It's all that matters."

She wasn't listening. With the tip of her finger she traced the rough carving of their table. It was a housewarming present from her father. He had recently taken up the art of wood-crafting, but he had a long way to go. She stayed focused on the deep lines rather than think about the horrendous day she would have - a day which was supposed to be the happiest of her life.

Draco sat a swirled-patterned plate in front of her. She was more than happy to eat out of the containers, but Draco called the act barbarous.

"You never thought you'd be marrying me," she teased.

He laughed, dipping out rice on her plate. "Not a bit, no." He then frowned. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

She looked into those kind gray eyes and shook her head, lying. "Not a bit, no."

Satisfied, he nodded. "Good, because my dear, I am never letting you go." He speared a piece of diced chicken, feeding her, and she smiled, but her heart stayed lodged in the pit of her stomach.

**Presently**

It was raining, and Draco was drenched like a damn rat. He swiped his hair out of his eyes. There was a bus, and he didn't care where it went as he truly had nowhere to go. He went aboard and thanked Merlin that Hermione insisted he keep a few muggle coins on him. If he ever saw her again, he would thank her too.

He walked down the aisle to the back of the bus, where he stopped short upon seeing the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen. She too, was sopping wet; her white wedding dress clinging to her beautiful body. His breath hitched, and he sat next to her.

She spoke softly to the reflection of them in the window. "Hi."

"Hi," he responded hopefully.

They were quiet for two right turns and a red light, and he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Yes, they were in ruins, but he had never desired her more. He saw the hurt in the mirrored image of her face, and he hurt too. He forgave her without a whisper of an apology, because he knew that it was his fault. He admired her, because she always had the guts to stand up and say, 'no.' If it wasn't for his happiness, she would've done it ages ago.

"You didn't kill Ron, did you," she asked.

"Of course not, don't be absurd. I made you a promise I wouldn't."

There was a flicker of a smile - or at least he thought there was. It could have been the heavy drops of rain that pattered and trickled down the window. "I suppose I should keep mine," she said.

"What?"

She turned to face him, and suddenly, he could see everything. The bloodshot and sticky cheeks of a girl who had been crying. It broke his heart in a way that didn't break when he watched her run out on him.

"Lets get married today," she said.

"Hermione, are you demented or inebriated? All the guests have left. The minister has left."

"Draco, we should have done this our way. Lets do it our way."

"What is our way?"

"Privately, with our closest friends. Lets tell Ginny, Harry and Ron and Nott and marry at this chapel I saw." She said it all very quickly in the way he was so accustomed to hearing anything that excited her, she told him where exactly the chapel was at and that she was fairly certain that they would be open still (night services or some nonsense).

"You're serious."

"Yes! It's perfect."

"You're barmey."

She finally took a deep breath. He smelled alcohol on her breath. So she _had _been drinking. "We did it their way," she said.

He wrapped a strand of her dripping hair around his finger, and tucked it behind her ear. "Who will walk you down the aisle? Your father left."

"Harry will. That is," she paused in worry. "That is if you still want to marry me."

Taking her hot face in his cold hands, he spoke slowly so her racing mind and heart could feel every syllable. "There is nothing in the world I want more."

"Then say yes."

"Yes."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"Bloody stupid device - stop beeping!"

Hermione locked herself in the washroom while Draco worked her mobile. She could hear him cursing at the buttons, and out of the corner of her eye she saw herself smile in the mirror.

Stripping off her wet and overdone dress, she stared at herself in the mirror. She was truly a mess. Mascara streaked her cheeks and her hair was bushier and wilder than usual. There was no way that she would look like a proper bride, and she found that she cared very little. Her groom was out there waiting for her, and this time, she would not leave him.

"You're bloody bile is defected," she heard him yell through the crack in the door.

She bit her lip to suppress her laugh. "_Mobile_, Draco."

"Whatever it is, Hermione, it's not working!"

She opened the door, and his eyes opened wide at the sight of her in her knickers. She snatched the mobile from him and promptly shut the door in his face. Giggling like a schoolgirl, she dialed Ginny.

Somehow, in the midst of all that went horribly wrong, it would be the wedding she always dreamt of.

**Three Years Ago**

Holding the briefcase above her head did little to help Hermione. It was sideways rain, saturating her new suit to her skin, her hair stringy and clinging to her face and neck. The hasty clicking of her heels on the pavement could not be heard above the sky's commotion.

Her head was full of ideas of how to win the case she was handed and while she normally wrote all of it down, Harry had suggested the bus to clear her head. He told her he solved many of his own cases on it, and she was willing to try. Of course, it had to suddenly downpour while she was on her way to the bus-stop!

Then, her luck laughed at her when she twisted her ankle and fell down into a puddle, her briefcase splashing nearby. She let out a rare curse. Her night couldn't possible get worse! Then, she saw two leather shoes.

"Granger?"

She looked up, and cursed herself for ever thinking that things could not get worse. It was Draco Malfoy.

He grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet, and she expected that stupid smug smirk he'd always wear, but she was apparently in an alternate universe, because Draco Malfoy looked concerned.

That was right, she had heard he changed. He even _thanked_ Harry for keeping him and his family out of Azkaban.

"Malfoy," she greeted, accepting her briefcase from him. She hoped that the papers inside where dry. She would hate to use a spell on every single one of them.

"How are you," he asked awkwardly.

"I'm good. How are you?"

"Fantastic."

"I should go."

"Should you?"

"I have a muggle transportation to catch," she said in rude biting tone, hoping that she wouldn't have to actually run after the bus.

"I'll get you home in a much more interesting way."

"No, thank you."

"You haven't heard my proposal."

She sighed, heaving her shoulders into a slump. "What's your proposal, Malfoy?"

"That you have tea with me."

She was stunned. "Malfoy, we don't know each other. I'm a mudblood, remember?"

"I'm not the tosser I used to be, Granger. Get to know me. We'll do it properly this time."

"Why," she yelled over the sound of the distant thunder. "Why now?"

"Because the war is over and I refuse to fight you. Because I want to know you." He shrugged his shoulders, too. "You are either the biggest mistake I've made or the smartest, but not many women can look beautiful in a rainstorm. Mudblood or not."

She found herself laughing. "Maybe I will sometime have tea with you."

"That's all?"

She laughed again, and walked past him toward her bus-stop.

It had been an odd day, a turn in her life that made a tapestry beautiful and complex. She admired him, but most of all she was afraid of him. Not for what he was, but how he could hurt her in different and more awful ways than when they were in school.

**Presently**

Ginny poked her head into the door as she had earlier that day. "You look a mess, Hermione." She walked in, still in the dress she wore to the failed wedding.

Hermione nodded. "My dress is ruined," she motioned to the dirt streaked dress lying over the sink. She crossed her arms. "It's not a loss - I didn't like it, but... I suppose I have to wear _something._" Wrinkling her nose, she turned her back to it.

"I have a surprise." From behind her back, Ginny withdrew a lovely white dress. It was platted and went to the knees with a swooping neckline. Hermione gasped her delight.

"Ginny, this is your dress."

"I want you to wear it. You loved it at my wedding."

"But it's yours."

Ginny rolled her eyes, pushing it into her arms. "It's just a dress, Hermione."

Hermione felt a lump in her throat. There was nothing that she could say to express how much her friend's generosity meant to her, so she hugged her tightly.

"Okay, okay," Ginny laughed, pulling away. "Lets see if I can pull off a miracle." She brought out her wand.

After half an hour, Hermione learned that Ginny could indeed pull of miracles. Hermione looked as if she had never cried and walked in the rain. Her hair was sleek, falling over her shoulders, pulled up at the side with a white rose (that had been toilet paper before Ginny transfigured it).

Harry knocked once and entered. He looked Hermione over and breathed. "Ready?"

Hermione nodded, and took his arm. She really was ready.

At the end of the short aisle way of red carpet there was her Draco, but instead of the robe he was wearing when she had entered the bathroom, he was wearing a stylish muggle suit. His hand was uncomfortably shifting the tie, until he locked eyes with her, and his hand dropped, his tie left askew.

Harry dropped her arm, and she numbly nodded, standing before her groom. The minister spoke, but she stayed mesmerized by Draco's eyes.

"And do you take him?"

She sighed, her hands squeezing his.

"Please don't change your mind," Draco whispered.

"Never," she whispered back. "I do," she told the minister.

"Then, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may -"

Draco was kissing her furiously, his hands holding her face to his. She smiled against his lips and her heart leapt.

Finally, Draco Malfoy was her husband. It only took them thirteen years.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews!


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